Blinded
by goldnox
Summary: ONE-SHOT / Stefan's absence in Elena's life has left things confusing and complicated between her and Damon. Is she ready to let go of one love to claim another? The questions aren't any easier when Elena starts having a recurring midnight visitor, making her ask: What is the price to remain in the dark? / Set in Season 3. Delena. LEMONS


**A/N: Well hello! It's been a while, my sweets! How I have missed you all! So I could not resist this little idea that snuck up on me, and thought I would share it with you wonderful people. **

**Here's the score: We are set somewhere in the murky land of Season Three. Stefan's been cruising around with Klaus and Elena is starting to look to Damon more and more. And while she knows he loves her, and is starting to suspect that she might love him as well, the timing is a mess and she's still scared to do anything about it. **

**At least, until Damon gives her a different way to show what she really wants. **

**Thanks so much to Trogdor19, a pure godsend who never fails to find a way to beta, no matter what kind of extreme adventure she is on. Cupcakes for you!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Blinded**

The first time it happened, I wasn't even that surprised. Except that maybe it didn't happen sooner. It was inevitable, I suppose, like everything else between us.

He woke me with a hand over my eyes, a finger laid over my lips. Soft lips and hot breath cascading over my ear as he shushed me. I probably should have been afraid. I wasn't.

I'm not quite sure why he thinks I don't know, haven't known. He has never been able to hide from me. Regardless, I play along. I let him make the rules and I comply to the best of my ability. It is not always easy.

The first time he exchanged his hand for the black scarf I was nervous. He did it so fast I never saw him, and maybe I didn't want to. I needed it to be in the dark, just like he needed me to be.

That was the first rule. The one we never break.

After I was blindfolded I laid still and waited. I wondered if he would kiss me.

He never does.

I was impatient while my heart raced, counting the seconds until his fangs pierced me.

But he doesn't bite.

Instead, he took my hands, lacing his fingers through mine in a silent promise that he wouldn't hurt me. I nodded and I barely caught the sound of his relief, a low breath escaping his lips.

I thought the ruse was over when I tightened my fingers with his, feeling the distinct band of his ring on his left hand, not his right. I tried to be subtle when I brought the pad of one fingertip up, pressing it into the delicate D that adorns his armor. He didn't speak, he never does, and I didn't really expect him to. He let my hands go.

He should have been more careful if he wanted it to be a secret. Everything about him is different, opposite, special. He shouldn't have undressed me so carefully, like it was the first time, even though it was. He shouldn't have paused to look, grazing his fingertips over every inch of me as though I was something precious. If he was going to pretend to be someone else, someone who had known me before, he should have controlled his breathing. But he didn't.

I bit my lip the first time I grasped his shoulders, just to keep from saying his name. I do that a lot because if I say it, it'll be over. So I stay quiet. But I couldn't help my smile when I touched smooth skin, unblemished and perfect.

Maybe he's forgotten that you can feel tattoos on vampires. The ink juts out just the slightest bit, always fighting against the healing blood that is desperate to rid the mark. It took all my concentration to make my movements abstract when I let my hands trail down his arms, my thumb sweeping over the block letters that lay inside his forearm. I didn't linger, though I wanted to. I try my best to stay away from the brand that declares who he is. I don't always succeed.

The first night was all passion. It was learning, exploring, too fast and too slow and unbelievably intense. It was his tongue tasting my skin, his hands on my body, his touch asking and almost hesitant. It felt like he was nervous.

He was gentle and he took his time, stopping to soak up the feeling of us together. He kept one arm wound beneath my neck, pulling me up and towards him as he tenderly kissed my shoulder instead of my lips. His other hand strayed where he pleased, lightly gripping my waist, my breast, my hip as he made love to me. It was raw and vulnerable and absolutely beautiful.

When it was over I was eager to see him, to let him know that I was aware of whose scent was claiming me for his own. He was still inside me, his forehead resting tiredly on my collarbone when I reached for the blindfold.

He stopped me.

Delicately, so delicately, he pulled my hands away and rested them on his cheeks, shaking his head no. This is always how he implores me to remain blind.

I didn't contain my sigh of disappointment as I stroked my thumbs over his cheekbones, pressing my lips to his forehead with all the care I could. It was a promise and I haven't broken it.

I waited until I knew he was gone before I uncovered my eyes, granting him privacy while he made himself leave. When I started to cry it wasn't for what I had done, for what I hoped would happen again. It was only because I knew: this was, is, the consequence of my hesitancy. Of my unwillingness to let the past be the past, to let our now become our tomorrow.

He thinks I have denied him my heart, so I'm not allowed to see.

The second time was pure, unadulterated fun. I think he was drunk. He smelled like bottles upon bottles of bourbon and forgot that he wasn't supposed to laugh. Maybe because he couldn't let my giggles live alone.

Either way, I don't ever want to forget his deep chuckles, the rumbles that vibrated through his chest as I squealed, excitedly squirming while he nipped and growled at me. It was all tickles and tumbles, rolling and soft snickers and a symphony of primal delight.

I love it when he's happy.

That was the first time I whispered for him to kiss me. I couldn't help it. I know as a rule I'm not supposed to speak, but I wanted to feel his lips the one place he hadn't laid them. At my ushering he brushed his mouth across my neck, but we both knew that wasn't what I was asking.

I laid a palm on his cheek, turning him towards me. Tapping my lips with one finger, I gave him a coy smile and quietly said, "Here".

I knew I had made a mistake when he stopped, the laughter suddenly dying as though it had never existed. He covered my hand with his, keeping it pressed to his face so I could feel it as he shook his head no.

I opened my mouth to argue with him but I didn't get a chance to speak. His finger lay over my lips, wordlessly pleading with me not to push him. I nodded though I didn't want to, tears stinging my blinded eyes because even though I was sure he wasn't rejecting me, it felt like he was. And he knew.

He knew because I was betrayed by salt he could smell and a sniffle I couldn't stop. He asked for forgiveness, for understanding, by resting his forehead to mine, caressing my jaw and nuzzling my nose with his. He kissed my cheeks, my temple, my hair. He smiled against my skin. He fluttered his eyelashes under my ear where he knows I'm most sensitive, an unbidden laugh falling from my lips. He spent the rest of the night making sure I was smiling.

I wish I could have seen the ones he returned them with. I felt them, I know they were there.

Sometimes, most times, I hate the scarf for this reason. I want to see blue shimmer and white gleam. I crave the contrast of black hair and pale skin. I need his grins and his smirks, to see his eyes roll back when he moans and how he must squeeze them shut when the pleasure is too much to bear. It is not fair that I'm kept in the dark, that I'm being denied memories to see instead of just hear, feel.

But sometimes, sometimes, the blindfold is my savior.

Sometimes, he is angry.

I don't begrudge him these nights, when I feel safer being sightless than witnessing his pain. It is a kindness I don't deserve, that I won't have to remember the frustration, the fury that I have brewed behind the blue. I know it is my doing so I let him take it out on me, to use my body and think that he is punishing me for not loving him.

But he should know, I wouldn't consent if I didn't. I wouldn't surrender to the possibility that any day I could push him too far and he will shove back until it breaks one or both of us. And physically, I am much more fragile.

He doesn't hurt me. He never hurts me. But I know when he wishes he could, and he swears it in other ways.

There are many rules when he is upset.

He doesn't tolerate me touching him. It is my penance for the daylight, when he has to stand back and keep his distance and I understand, so I don't fight him. He holds my wrists in his hand, keeping them away from us so I am controlled. Once I tried to make up for it by tightening my legs around him, to explain that even when I'm holding him at a distance he is always, always with me. It didn't work.

He growled and flipped me over, showing me that I wasn't permitted to comfort him. He wants me to know, to feel, his hurt and abandonment. So I spread my legs wide until my hips ache, ensuring that my thighs don't touch him as he takes from me.

And that's what he does, what he needs. To take. So I let him and it's the only way he lets me atone for what happens when my eyes are free to see.

I am not allowed to climax on these nights and I don't want to. I wonder if he realizes how upset I would be because I don't want to feel pleasure from his anguish. Maybe he understands and that's why he stops it from happening because even at his worst, he still cares. It is not easy, for either of us.

My body knows him, enjoys him, and some things cannot be helped or hindered. He fits inside me perfectly, stoking and hitting spots that I never knew existed until him. And even when he's rough, the feeling of his power, his strength, is addictive.

I try to resist it, the tingles that race up my spine and the shivers that surge through me, and sometimes I can stop it but most of the time I can't. So he does it for me.

He knows when it's too much for me so he stills, waiting until I come back down to a safe place for him to start moving again. Over and over, he pauses before I can succumb, taking me back to my purpose.

I bite my lip until it bleeds because I owe him this, these black nights when I don't deserve his compassion or his gifts. He deserves my compliance and I fail, I always fail. Because I can't restrain it when he gets what he wants, exploding inside me with so much force that it unwillingly sends me into my own orgasm.

And he knows I let him down, like I always do. That I couldn't give him the one thing he desired: to let him be selfish with me because he can't have me to keep. I'm ashamed and quickly mutter my apologies but he pushes me away, disgusted by my lack of self-control, by my apparent self-interest.

These are the nights that I cry the most when he leaves, wishing I was better, more. Wishing I was brave in the light.

He always expresses regret for these darkest of nights. The next evening will be soft, reverent, slow. He will lay with his head over my heart, his arms around my waist, silently begging for forgiveness. There is nothing to absolve but I grant him what he requests, combing my fingers through his hair and holding him to me, resting my cheek to his crown while he shakes.

When he finally moves he adores me everywhere, kissing even my fingertips and paying attention to all the places that no one else would think to notice. He rolls me on my stomach and massages my whole body; starting at my feet and moving up my legs, over my bottom, my sides, my back and my shoulders and my neck. He weaves his fingers into my hair and lightly scrapes my scalp with his nails until I can't feel anything else.

This is my sanctuary, the comforting heat of his skin when he covers my body with his; resting his legs on the outside of mine, his bare chest to my back. His broad hands drift down my arms until our fingers lock and he winds them around us, vowing to protect me with all that he is. He stays until he is sure that I know.

When he turns me back over he is sweet and he is thorough, pleasuring me with his mouth and his hands until I am lost in a world of him, but he never gives me any other part of his body. He doesn't seek his own release because he is better than I am. And it hurts.

I need him, all of him, on these graceful nights. I know he needs me too. It is almost more punishment to be denied him, even though I know that is not what he intends. So I whisper, "Please," but all I ever receive is my hand on his cheek as he shakes his head no.

And when he is satisfied that I am sated, when my heart struggles and I gasp for air, my body slick with sweat from all he makes me feel, he leaves. I am granted a lingering kiss to my cheek, a strong hand on my jaw, a tender touch of his forehead against mine and then his soul is gone.

In the absence of sight, I can feel it more clearly than any other time and I know the instant that he disappears out my window. The emptiness in its wake is suffocating, abysmal. I wonder if I were to take off the scarf when he is here at night, if it would blind me.

I want to find out but we have a silent agreement, rules and reasons and a treaty and trust and I don't want to break it, but it is nearly intolerable to ignore this in the bright light of day. His aloofness is infuriating, acting as though in a few hours he won't be securing his claim on my heart by having his hands command my body, to move with and for him as only he could ever do.

I want to scream at him for smirking at me, for making me question what his real purpose is for keeping me unseeing. I don't want to think it is all a game for him, some sick sense of accomplishment in getting me to give in any way he can.

I want to keep believing that he's doing it because he loves me; because he can't stay away and knows I can't either, even though it's far too complicated to acknowledge any of this right now. So he takes the pain and responsibility, binding my eyes and, he thinks, my heart.

He should know better, but I don't know if he does.

And I need him. So much.

I can only suffer the hours when I don't allow myself to touch him because I know they are temporary, that soon I will caress and cradle him, promise to protect him with my arms and legs and lips though not my words. I will give him all I have and let him take what he needs, and I will pray for the courage to see, for the patience to remain in the dark. It's all I can do, until I can move us forward.

I will hope that when it is over that he will stay, even though I know he won't.

I will ask for him to kiss me, and he will shake his head no.

I know that I am supposed to lie in bed with my back to the window before he comes inside my room. It is all to keep up the ploy of anonymity, so he can cover my eyes before he replaces his hand with the scarf.

Tonight, naked, I waited in my chair.

I sat cross-legged, huffing my frustration while watching the moon move in the sky.

When I finally gave up and lay down, back to the window, he arrived. A rush of air then a warm hand gingerly eliminating my sight, silk settled over the bridge of my nose and tied behind my head with the utmost care.

I roll away from him and he knows I'm upset, that I'm tired of the game.

He undresses quickly and settles behind me, lifting me just enough to snake an arm under and back across my chest so he's holding me to him. His other caresses my stomach, my waist, my hips and my thighs. He presses kisses to my shoulder, nuzzling the back of my neck. I know he's apologizing for the way things have to be, but that's just it. They don't have to be this way. And I have no idea of how to tell him this because he won't let me speak to him, to see him.

It occurs to me that maybe he's the one that's most scared of reality and that angers me more than anything. If he doesn't think he can love me in the daylight then he shouldn't be here. Isn't this all just a preface anyways? His way of showing me what and who I want so when he finally lets the façade fall, I'll know the truth: that it's always been him that's loved me best, that I have loved best.

We won't ever get anywhere if we keep everything hidden and I may be the one wearing the blindfold, but he's the one who's blind.

He walks two fingers down my thigh and I cross my ankles, locking my legs together. He snorts a quiet laugh that I probably wasn't supposed to hear, smoothing his palm back up my side. A single fingertip traces the base of my breast and even though it feels incredible, I bat his hand away.

He shifts a little like he's looking over my shoulder to peer down at my face and though I can't see him, I know exactly what expression he's wearing. I've never _not_ responded to his advances and he's confused, trying to figure out if I'm playing hard to get or actually turning him away.

He turns me towards him instead. His knuckles sweep from my temple to my jaw, decadent lips pressing into my cheek. I shift to try and capture his mouth but he retreats, knowing my plan.

It hurts, so much. The rejection, the disappointment, the embarrassment and the bewilderment of it all and I burst into hot, hateful tears. My arms come up to cover my face and he pulls them away, gentle fingertips trying to wipe at my cheeks. He doesn't get a chance.

I hit at his hands and arms and chest and everything I can reach, landing stinging slaps as fast as I can give. He blocks and tries to grab my wrists, but I am fire and rage and he misses and I keep swinging. I kick at him with my legs and push and try to cut him out of every part of my life that he has invaded, and I fail. I completely, utterly fail.

He rolls on top of me, squeezing my thighs between his knees and my feet still kick, but they reach nothing. I'm thrashing and flailing and my hand flies but before it connects I'm caught, my wrists slammed into the pillow above my head.

His breaths are ragged and quick while his fingers slide through mine, and I cry harder from the delicate gesture as he holds me down.

"Just go," I choke out, but he doesn't.

Instead, he re-arranges our hands so one of his is free, brushing my tears away as he shushes me. His lips ghost over my face, pressing into the corner of my mouth and my cheeks and my nose and my eyes and damn it, I don't want to give in to him. I want to be angry and cruel and punish him like he does me but he makes it impossible when he touches me like this.

He starts to release my hands but hovers close by, making sure that I'm calm. When he's satisfied I'm not going to lash out again he winds his other arm under my back, lifting me just the slightest bit so I'm tucked under his chin. My arms instinctively go around him, embracing him as tightly as possible. Gently, so gently, he nudges my legs apart so he can settle more comfortably between them.

Silent and still, we hold each other while I cry.

Later, when my cheeks dry and my pulse and breath are finally even, I lean back into my pillow. He brings one of our interlocked hands to his lips, fondly kissing them before his nose affectionately nuzzles mine and I spare a faint smile. He doesn't have to speak. I know what he's telling me.

I return his endearment by arching against him and he chuckles quietly, stroking the back of my thigh to guide my legs around him. I press my hand harder into his lower back and with a contented sigh, he touches his forehead to mine before finally pushing into me.

His moan is low and deep, his strokes are tender, much like that first night. He focuses on every inch that he buries in me, then slowly pulls back out before he enters me again. I trace the muscles in his back with my nails and he trembles, pulling my legs tighter around him. His cheek caresses mine and his hands grip me fiercely, but we're still not close enough.

Without warning he sits up and pulls me along, positioning me so I sink down on him. I desperately wrap him in all I have, his tongue teasing succulent circles on my neck. Our pace, breaths, _everything_ increases under our hunger because we know, we know, this time is different.

He anchors me down and drives up into me, and I don't even care about bruises or marks because in truth, I want them. I need them. And as my head falls back with a moan, my throat bared and calling, I pray that for once, he will bite.

But the pain never comes and instead, he soothingly kisses the vein that contains his siren. I gasp as his teeth scrape my jaw and my legs tighten, familiar prickles flooding my limbs. My hands in his hair grip with all the strength I have, rescuing him from his restraint. His growl and thrusts are pure need and desire and it doesn't take anything before I'm shouting, clenching him inside me and claiming his climax with mine.

Everything is warm and loose when I come back to myself, my world dipping backwards as he lays us down on the bed. He doesn't move for a long while and I'm so, so happy, my nails trailing his jaw while he rests in the safety of my neck.

More than anything, I just want him to stay.

I know when the time comes because he bids farewell with a languid kiss over my heart, a tired sigh escaping him as he pushes himself off me.

"Wait," I say and sit up, reaching for him when his weight leaves the bed.

He catches my outstretched hand like he can't help it, squeezing it gently before he tries to let me go. I need to be brave now so I grip him harder, tugging a bit, and he resists only a moment before he gives up, sitting next to me on the bed. I can't resist beaming a smile, blushing when his fingertip touches my cheek to tell me that he sees.

I clasp his right hand in both of mine, biting my lip in nerves as I sweep my thumb over his palm. Carefully, I let my fingertips travel up his arm, coming to rest on his tattoo. I stroke it lovingly, tracing the letters that are hidden to me from behind the scarf. He sucks in a breath.

I smile warmly as my hand continues up to his shoulder, across the length of his chest and back down his left arm. He lets me take his hand again, outlining the letter on his ring that never allowed him to hide from me.

I bring his hand to my cheek, and I nod my head yes.

I can hear his heavy breaths and I'm dying to see his face, so I reach for the blindfold.

He stops me, bringing both our hands down to my lap and I frown. I wonder if he's going to run, to pretend that I didn't just tell him that I know. I hope he doesn't leave.

Just please, please don't let him leave.

His hands disappear from mine.

Then delicately, so delicately, I feel him start to undo the knot he tied. One soft pull and then black fades away, causing me to blink a few times to adjust to the moonlight. My gaze settles on silver-blue eyes, wary and hopeful and waiting.

I smile and the corner of his mouth follows my lead, those precious, lovely lips that I've waited forever to kiss.

"I've always seen you, you know," I whisper and his head cocks in amusement.

"Have you now?"

"Mm-hmm," I nod, lightly cupping his cheek in my hand. He leans into my touch and I've never loved any sight more. "I've always, always known."

His eyebrow quirks as everything re-aligns for him, memories of all the nights that I was willing and knew exactly who I was saying yes to. All the times I have asked him to kiss me, and all the times he said no.

"Are you expecting an apology?" His voice is soft even as he smirks, like he's not sure he wants to give one but I can see the trepidation in his eyes, no matter how much he wishes I didn't.

"You owe me a lot more than that," I tease and he nods. "I-" I stop, biting my lip and unsure how to say this. I take a deep breath, assuring myself that his answer will be yes. "I owe you more than that too."

Slow and cautious, Damon leans towards me and with a blinding smile, he finally, finally, kisses me.

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**A/N: Alright my darlings, so I hope you enjoyed and I can't promise when I'll be back but feel free to follow and/or send me a note! I always cherish your thoughts and reviews!**

**In other exciting news, _Sounds of Tomorrow_ and _Birthday Girls Love Boys Nights (Resonance of Reality)_ are both available to be purchased on Amazon Kindle Worlds by _C. L. Marlene_, which is a very exciting development for all fan fiction writers. Your support is greatly appreciated, and there are links on my profile page. Thanks again to all!**

**Happy reading!**

**-Goldnox**


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